He Cared
by Sebastian the Mercat
Summary: After a traumatizing experience, Nathan is left alone to deal...until someone he least expects stumbles along and dares to care. Grahamscott. Other warnings inside.


_**Main characters: Nathan, Warren**_

 _ **Pairing: Warren/Nathan**_

 _ **Warnings: Non-consensual sexual situation, student-teacher relations, yaoi/slash**_

 _ **Important Note: This fanfiction was published before the release of episode 4.**_

* * *

Mr. Jefferson always liked the innocent young girls. Then what was it that drew him to Nathan?

"Nathan, will you stay after class, please," Mr. Jefferson said, just as everyone was getting up to leave.

Nathan growled under his breath in irritation - he had wanted to have enough time to return to his dorm and have enough time to take his meds and maybe toke up, before the Vortex party that night. Hayden gave him a sympathetic look, as he lumbered out, following the rest of the class.

"Nathan?" Mr. Jefferson questioned, when all his classmates were gone. He grunted, pushing himself to his feet, sauntering over to his teacher's desk.

"What do you want?"

Mr. Jefferson's eyes, which had previously been trained on the stack of photo portfolios, roved upwards to meet Nathan's. Behind his glasses, his eyes did not look amused.

"Is that any way to talk to one of your teachers?" Nathan opened his mouth to retort, but Mr. Jefferson interrupted him. "I was taking a look at your submission for the Every Day Hero Contest. It's quite good, quite...unexpected from you."

The harsh words that had been sitting bitter on his tongue shrunk back, as a strangely warm feeling filled his chest. Truly, Nathan could count on one hand the number of times he had been complimented in such a way, over the last year.

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand up and down his other arm. "Uh...um...thanks..."

Mr. Jefferson smiled slightly. "I bet there's quite a story behind the picture, too. I love pictures like that."

Oh now Nathan was DEFINITELY blushing. He swallowed hard, allowing the praise to warm him, not saying a word.

Mr. Jefferson's eyes flicked to look at him over the top of his glasses. "But tell me, Nathan...why did you choose to use black and white?"

Nathan shrugged. Jefferson's eyes trained on him in combination with the compliments made him uneasy. "I don't know...I guess..."

"Contrast," Jefferson said, a small smile drawing across his lips. "The contrast between light and dark is a very strange...and beautiful thing, don't you think?"

Nathan shifted, his eyes darting to the door. He really needed to take his meds soon... "Uh...sure..."

"Sit down, Nathan," Mr. Jefferson said, standing up, stretching. "I wish to discuss these sorts of things with you. You seem to have a rather...deep understanding of those sorts of things."

Nathan sat down, though his hands clenched where they rested. His left leg bounced slightly.

Mr. Jefferson walked around slowly, talking on and on about photography shit Nathan couldn't give a damn about. I mean, sure, he liked photography. Okay, he loved it, but he would never admit that - regardless, he didn't want to be sitting here in a classroom when he should be taking his meds and getting ready to party.

There was a sudden "click" sound from behind him - he hadn't realized he had been staring out the window, nor the fact that Jefferson had stopped talking.

Nathan whirled around to stare at his teacher, whose hand was just leaving the lock on the door. "What the fuck are you doing?" Nathan snapped, a glare now planted firmly on his face.

Mr. Jefferson seemed unfazed by both his anger and his harsh language. He descended upon Nathan before he even had a chance to wonder at the implications of these strange actions, hovering over him with his face mere inches from the boy's.

In spite of himself, Nathan drew backwards in his seat, his expression becoming more nervous. He balled up his fists once more to stop then from shaking. "W-what-"

"You interest me, Nathan," Mr. Jefferson said, his long, bony fingers coming up to gently caress Nathan's cheek. When the younger man jerked away, Mr. Jefferson's hand harshly grabbed ahold of his chin, his fingers digging in.

The calm of his voice never once wavered, though.

"The contrast of you yourself is quite interesting, quite intriguing to me. You seem to run at two different levels: Mean, angry, and vengeful; and quiet, fearful, and even somewhat remorseful. It's quite an interesting combination..."

Nathan swallowed, feeling himself quivering - he tried to tell himself it was just one of the effects of his meds wearing off, but he knew the truth.

He was, in that moment, scared out of his mind.

Suddenly, almost without thinking, he flung his hands up in a last-ditch effort to get him away...but they were easily caught and pinned down by Mr. Jefferson's larger hand.

Truly, the man was stronger than he looked.

Nathan struggled, but both hands gripping him were unrelenting.

"It's a shame you fight me like this," Mr. Jefferson whispered. Something mad, something not right was swimming in his eyes. "I love your soul, Nathan, how utterly torn in half it is. All that contrast...and it shows through your body, too. Those eyes of yours..." Mr. Jefferson lowered his head, so their eyes were staring directly into each others: Jefferson's insane and lust-filled ones against Nathan's angry and fear-filled ones. "I love your eyes, Nathan..."

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just disappear.

The next time Nathan opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor in the hallway, leaning against a set of lockers.

Confusion shot through him. He tried to climb up, but his body wasn't cooperating properly. It was aching and shaking...ah, right. He had been heading out to take his pills before the Vortex club party.

With a great deal of effort, he pulled himself to his feet. A wave of sickness washed over him suddenly.

He needed to get to those pills, and fast.

He stumbled down the hall, his mind a blur. He felt like absolute shit, which was nothing out of the ordinary...when he was doped up on his meds he felt like shit, and when he wasn't, he still felt like shit.

But this...it was different.

Never before had he experienced such a level of nausea, nor the weird feelings buzzing around inside of him.

He felt scared and sad and disgusted and angry and ashamed, all at the same time. The emotions seemed to fight and pick at each other, like waves crashing against each other.

Frankly, it only serves to make him more dizzy than he already was.

He finally made it to the pool building. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the extent of his strength, for he collapsed, then and there.

He sat just inside the door, his arms wrapped around his legs, shivering. His breathing was shallow, and his heart felt like it would come rocketing out of his chest at any second.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He needed to focus.

Focus.

Focus.

Focus like a camera.

Focus like a camera held by a shadowy, yet familiar, figure trained on his half-naked body.

Nathan's eyes shot open, his fingers digging into his legs so deeply, that they surely left marks.

A camera. Pictures. Confusion. Pain. Shame.

Nathan stood up as quickly as he could manage. He had to find some place to throw up as quickly as possible.

He rushed off to the guys' locker rooms, stumbling with his shaky hand guiding him along the walls, before dropping to his knees in front of the toilet as he dry-heaved.

He had been betrayed.

He had been...

Nathan threw up, his shaky arms barely supporting him. His knees quivered just as badly and the pain...oh, how he was in pain.

Nathan's fingers curled around the cold metal, his head resting on his arms. He needed to get up. Wash his face. Take his pills. Do something.

Do anything.

He tried to pry his fingers away, tried to force his aching knees to unbend, tried to force his back to straighten. No matter what he thought to himself though, he could not find it within himself to move from that curled up position.

'How pathetic am I?' he thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

That was a mistake. Immediately, he was assaulted with images that were far too recent, far too raw and painful. He gasped, jerking his eyes open.

He had thought he had been through shit before - that this, while being horrible, wouldn't effect him...at least as much as it was.

The sick feeling continued to churn in his stomach. Every blink, every moment he wasn't focused on something, anything else...the shadowed person - not Mr. Jefferson, never Mr. Jefferson, not Mr. Jefferson who PRAISED him, who was kind to him - was falling over him, was touching-

Nathan forced himself to his feet. He needed to take his meds - he'd rather deal with the numbness and dreadful side effects as opposed to thinking about what just happened.

He couldn't deal with those thoughts. He couldn't process them, and he was not sure he wanted to anyway.

He rested his head against the locker, as he pulled it open, reveling in the coolness against his burning forehead.

He took the pills dry, which was a feat within itself - his tongue felt dry and chalky, and the pills tasted like ashes.

Nathan sunk down against the lockers, grinding his teeth. 'I need to get to the Vortex party. Everyone will be expecting me. I'll be considered a loser if I don't show...'

Nathan's body didn't even twitch.

'What if someone notices that I'm missing? What if they come looking for me?'

He let his eyes drift shut. He couldn't give a fuck anymore, even if he wanted to...

"Oh, hey Nathan. I didn't see you there."

Nathan was quite sure his soul left his body briefly, with how badly the other boy had scared him.

The other boy - Nathan was pretty sure his name was Warren - was standing awkwardly at the entrance to the locker room, a flyer talking about missing goggles held in his hands. "I...uh...didn't mean to startle-"

"What the fuck do you want?" Nathan snapped, before wincing. His voice had came out shaky and hoarse as all get out. He was also hyper-aware of the fact he was crumbled against the locker, looking pitiful as all hell, in front of some loser nerd.

Warren had obviously heard it too, and noticed his hunched over position, for his eyes widened slightly. "I...was just hanging up these flyers about my goggles...I...misplaced...are you alright?" Warren finally asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut. A mistake, as the images flashed vividly across his eyelids.

His voice came out even weaker than before. "Fuck off."

Fingers touching his cheek.

Nathan flinched violently, bringing up a fist to knock the guy's hand away. "Did you NOT hear me when I said fuck OFF?!" he demanded, his wide eyes glaring fiercely at Warren.

Hopefully the cracks in his voice went unnoticed.

No such luck. The little asshole's eyes grew even more concerned.

"Dude...you...did something happen? Like..." He shifted, his eyes looking everywhere but Nathan's eyes. His eyes landed on Nathan's wrists, where the sleeves had ridden up slightly. "There...there are bruises on your wrists..."

Nathan jerked his sleeves down, hiding his hands. For a second, when he saw this Warren kid, he had felt relieved - it wasn't Hayden or somebody who would no-doubt judge him, and go rambling off to the Vortex club what a pussy he was - after all, it wasn't as though he had been hurt too badly-

Just thinking about the act made him shudder. Maybe he was more pathetic than he had previously thought.

But looking back at Warren, he felt this horrible sensation building up in his chest. This guy wasn't going to make fun of him, start rumors, or any of that shit. Oh no, he was going to do something much worse.

He was going to act like he cared.

"Back the fuck off-"

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Warren said, kneeling somewhat in front of Nathan, his brown eyes seeking out Nathan's blue ones. "Dude, you're hurt...maybe not that bad physically, but you should see your eyes right now. Dude-"

"What the fuck ever," Nathan hissed. Why couldn't the little twerp leave him alone?! He just wanted...he wanted to leave and get high and pretend this never happened.

It couldn't have.

That shadowed figure was just a figment of his imagination, right?

A nightmare.

A shadow shaped like his gentle, kind photography teacher.

He would never.

He wouldn't-

Nathan made a sound. For a second, he was not quite sure what it was, until it came again. And then he felt the moisture running down his cheeks.

Nathan Prescott was sobbing.

Warren jumped back, seemingly startled. He watched with wide eyes, holding his hands out slightly, as though he wanted to help, but was not sure what to do. He swallowed back the feeling of helplessness that consumed him, as he watched the prince of Blackwell, the richest guy in town, the head of the Vortex Club, bring his knees up to his chest, sobbing helplessly.

After what was about five minutes of gasping and sobbing and crying out in an agony so raw, it made Warren's heart feel like it was going through a meat grinder, he finally couldn't take it.

He reached out, and pulled Nathan into a hug.

He struggled, badly. Warren had his suspicions about what had happened - Nathan was exhibiting all the signs of a certain kind of trauma. He knew that Nathan probably didn't want to be touched in that moment.

But Warren also knew Nathan needed that hug. He needed to know that not all touches were bad. He needed to know that even though they didn't know each other too well, Warren would be there for him. He needed to know that someone cared enough to not just sit by and watch as Nathan fell apart.

After all, that seemed to be the trend among Nathan's friends and family. Like watching a train wreck.

Nathan struggled, his voice harsh and raspy as he demanded Warren let him go. Warren instead shushed him, rubbing his back slowly. Nathan cursed at him. Warren squeezed him a little tighter. Nathan began shaking, Warren reminded him who he was, that he wouldn't hurt him.

After about the tenth time of his saying that, Nathan finally stilled, stiffly allowing himself to be held.

"He touched me," Nathan whispered. Warren, out of all the times he had heard Nathan bragging or raging, had never heard such a heart-broken, childish innocense in his voice. "I...didn't want him to. I didn't want him to touch me..."

Warren swallowed. "I know. I do know... I can drive you to the police station-"

"I don't trust them. They work for my dad." When Warren pulled back, giving him a confused look, Nathan sighed heavily. "Like Sean Prescott would want the whole town talking about this. He'd rather bury it like he's done with all the rest of me and my problems."

Warren slowly released him, sitting back. "Then..."

"Can...you take me to David M.?" Nathan whispered, his eyes not meeting Warren's.

"The security guard? Sure, I think I know where he lives. I think he's married to Joyce, from Two Whales."

"Yeah..." Nathan's hands twitched. "I get coffee there every morning. Good shit."

Warren laughed slightly. "Yeah. I got thrown out of there once, 'cause I got carried away with my homework and accidentally graffitied one of the tables..."

Nathan gave him a look. "How does one "accidentally" graffiti something?"

Warren laughed again, shrugging.

When he stopped laughing, he looked, really looked at Nathan.

He was pale, his eyes wide and scared. In spite of that, there was something...strong, about the firm line of his lips, about the set of his brow.

"It was Jefferson. Mark Jefferson."

Warren felt all the air whoosh out of his lungs. He couldn't come up with any logical, coherent thought as to what to say. Maybe he didn't need to say anything, for Nathan continued.

"He had this...this look. He just kept ranting about "contrast" and all this shit...and afterwards, he just...he took these PICTURES of me...and he talked about how usually he goes for the "young innocent girls" but there was just something "different" about me...and..." Nathan looked as sick as Warren felt.

Nathan's head suddenly fell forward, resting his forehead on his hands. "Why am I telling you this?"

Warren shrugged. "'Cause you need to talk? In CSI, they always say it's better to talk than to keep it all bottled up, ya know?"

"I don't watch that show," Nathan mumbled.

"Oh, it's so good! We should totally marathon it!" Suddenly, Warren winced, rubbing his arm. "Well, probably not now..."

Nathan clicked his tongue. "You're bad at this, aren't you?"

Warren smiled slightly, shrugging. "I'm awkward. Even with how little we've talked before, you should know that."

Nathan frowned, rubbing his own arm.

Warren slowly reached over placing a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "Come on. I'll take you to Madsen's house."

Nathan stood up slowly, stumbling. Warren caught him, quickly pulling Nathan's arm over his shoulder. At his wince, Warren looked away.

"I...won't hurt you, you know?"

Nathan rolled his eyes. "You're too much of a pussy to hurt anyone, Warren. Get over yourself."

In spite of the harsh words, there was an undertone that Warren didn't fail to notice.

Nathan sounded...relieved. Thankful. Something like that.

Warren patted his arm in a comforting gesture. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's get out of this hellhole."

Nathan nodded, and they walked out together.

* * *

 _* Several months later *_

Nathan sat in the pool locker rooms, leaning against the cool metal, a strange smile on his face.

So much had changed, since the beginning of the year.

After Warren had taken Nathan to David Madsen's house, he stayed with him, as he retold the events to the security guard.

Of course, Madsen had immediately told Principal Wells, who told the police - not before firing Jefferson, point blank, of course.

Jefferson got put away in a prison in Seattle, for which Nathan was grateful - the farther away he was, the easier it was for his nightmares to fade away.

Nathan's father had of course found out about what happened, but what resulted from his finding out, no one could have expected. You see, the day Jefferson got arrested, Sean Prescott burst into the school infirmary where Nathan had been resting, gathered his son into his arms, and cried his eyes out.

No one would have believed it, had Warren not been there to witness it as well, confirming the rumors.

Nathan's healing process was slow - oh, his body healed within the week, his bruises fading, but his mind was stuck in a tornado, whirling and whirling with pain and fear.

But then something changed. Sean Prescott stopped burying his son's problems, and began bringing in people for him to talk to.

A few months later, Nathan could finally smile and laugh.

A month after that, he was down to only taking a couple of his meds, and functioning perfectly okay.

A month after that, he began to get back into photography.

The month after that, Nathan and Warren officially became a thing.

No one was sure how it happened, except for them, that is. Warren stuck by Nathan when he was at his lowest, you see, and he barely knew him at the time. He helped him to deal with something that would be hard for anyone to deal with. In those moments, both of them knew they had signed their souls away to each other.

Over the months after Jefferson was put away, it was like the school was detoxing. Slowly, there was less hate, less competition. The Vortex parties merged with the Otters' swimming celebrations, and eventually, everyone was just hanging out together. There weren't all that many of them, after all, and they all had similar interests; artists stick together, after all.

However, there seemed to me one leading factor for the sudden unity: Warren and Nathan, after that night, refused to leave each others' sides.

Slowly, others rallied behind Nathan: Max, her friend Chloe, Kate, Victoria, Hayden, everyone showed their support.

None more so than Warren, though.

"What are you thinking about?" a voice asked Nathan, breaking him out of his musings.

"You."

Warren rolled his eyes, plopping down beside Nathan. "Oh, stop. You're making me blush."

Nathan rolled his eyes as well. "I'm happy."

Warren glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "That's good."

"I felt like dying that night you found me."

Warren's hand settled on his. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Me too," Nathan whispered. "Me too."

* * *

 _ **Okay, why did I write this?**_

 _ **Usually fanfictions start out all bright and cheery, before going dark and stuff, and that was kind of what happened here...only not. I wanted this to be about recovery, and the fact that life gets better, even when you're at your lowest.**_

 _ **Also I find Jefferson supremely creepy, and Warren and Nathan together are freaking adorable.**_

 _ **This isn't a headcanon or anything (clearly, as it does not follow the plot of the game WHATSOEVER), but it was just something I wanted to write, being the trash I am.**_

 _ **In any case, I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to review, if you so please!**_


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